


Smoke

by softsilences



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Cigarettes, M/M, Smoking, contains mentions and themes of smoking and yakuza talk, mafia, mafia!au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-05
Updated: 2016-07-05
Packaged: 2018-07-21 17:02:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,181
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7396075
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/softsilences/pseuds/softsilences
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Hey, Iwa-chan. Do you find beauty in smoke?”</p><p>“or do you find smoke in beauty?”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Smoke

**Author's Note:**

> Relationship study for a (possible) mafia!au/delinquents!au iwaoi fic I'm currently in the process of developing! But this can still be read as a stand-alone fic.

An acrylic painting of a small cottage standing in the middle of a grassland stays hung by the doorway of Iwaizumi’s room, a bit run-down, all canvas and no frame. Oikawa uses his fingers to pick at the peeling brushstrokes, his one leg carefully toeing the door beside him close. Here, under the sepia-toned shadows of Iwaizumi’s bedroom walls, the painting, with its cottage house standing proud against the faded lavender of a sky, looks far from what one would expect to be ‘carefully smuggled’.

“This looks interesting,” Oikawa says.

From the other side of the room, Iwaizumi sits on the bed with his back against the wooden headboard and eyes laden with something heavier than sleep. Despite how the weatherman had announced today to be the hottest day in Kobe _(“We’ll be hitting the 30 degree mark today, folks”)_ , Iwaizumi looks cold, lips frosted with dead skin and ashes from the cigarette between his fingers falling like snow onto the skin of his bare chest.

Oikawa flits his gaze from the painting to the window. Today doesn’t feel like the first day of summer at all.

“Oikawa, I know this isn’t a museum but, please, don’t touch the painting so much.”

“Ahw, Iwa-chan. I thought you bought it for me, and you also said that things bought should always be put into use. Why’d you have to buy me something like this?”

“I did. And, yes, they are.” Iwaizumi flicks the wrist he’d been holding up to his mouth, and the snow falls from and his bed and to the ground. “But paintings are meant to be looked at, not scraped by your fingernails. Also, the fact that you’re looking at it answers your question: yes, that painting’s being put to proper use.”

“Still doesn’t make it look more than a horrible Van Gogh rip-off.”

“Shut up. You’re only saying that because you only know Van Gogh.”

Oikawa smiles. “You might be right. I’m sorry I didn’t grow up to be as cultured as you are.”

“Oikawa…”

The floorboard creaks beneath Oikawa’s feet as he makes his way to the other side of the room, where Iwaizumi lies looking like he needed something to hold. “So, is this what people like you do now,” Oikawa starts, climbing onto Iwaizumi’s bed , “lying in bed all day and smoking packets while you buy things for the other things you also bought—”

“I didn’t buy you.”

Oikawa positions himself on top of Iwaizumi, planting both thighs on either side of Iwaizumi’s waist, straddling Iwaizumi while his hands settle themselves around Iwaizumi’s neck. “Well, technically, you had Mad Dog-chan take care of it by swiping the ransom off my head with a credit card.”

“The ransom wasn’t the only thing on your head.” Iwaizumi takes a long drag from the cigarette before he pulls the stick away from his mouth. Then he looks at Oikawa, lets his eyes wander to the first few buttons of Oikawa’s white, cotton dress shirt left undone before looking up to meet Oikawa’s gaze and opening his mouth to say, the smoke he held in blowing against Oikawa’s pretty face, “I saved you.”

And right then and there, with the smoke rising and fogging the space between them, Oikawa pushes his lips against Iwaizumi’s own and kisses Iwaizumi, hard.

What’s actually their first kiss in years starts as a sloppy, open-mouthed pressing of skin against skin. Oikawa’s mouth catches the taste of invisible cigarette buds between Iwaizumi’s chapped lips, the both of them struggling to fit against each other.

“Kiss me. _Please_. Kiss me,” Oikawa says while in the middle of catching their breaths, almost as if Iwaizumi hasn’t been doing exactly that, lips parted and eyes unfocused and dazed. But Iwaizumi obliges anyway, lets his hand grab a handful of Oikawa’s hair as he pulls Oikawa impossibly closer and kisses him rough and breathless and half-moaning.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Iwaizumi curses, realizing that he’d been pressing the cigarette against Oikawa’s neck. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” Oikawa breathes out, head bent backwards and jaw slack as Iwaizumi moves to press lips over the light burn. “Your name’s running on top of the recent watchlists because of me,” he says.

How Oikawa got hold of the information, Iwaizumi doesn’t exactly know; ever since they’d separated at the orphanage years ago, and then later at their shared apartment somewhere back in Kyoto, Oikawa hadn’t stopped changing over the years.

Even here, Iwaizumi thinks, even in his arms, Oikawa’s still changing.

“Who told you I didn’t liked having an invisible gun pointed to my head?”

Oikawa kisses Iwaizumi one last time, and he pulls away like how smoke comes out of a cigarette: never back in.

“Nobody,” Iwaizumi starts, and Oikawa watches as he brings out and lights another stick. “Between you and me… and everyone else… I think I’m the one who wants to see you alive the most.”

 

• • • • • 

 

Looking at the painting with hands planted on his hips, Oikawa asks, “Why couldn’t you have just bought me a real house instead of a painting of one, Iwa-chan?”

This time, Iwaizumi stands behind him, and Oikawa turns to face Iwaizumi when he speaks, “Don’t need to. You can have the cellophane one in Marseille, if you want, or the high-rise in Gangnam.”

“You’re a showoff.”

“You asked, I answered.” Iwaizumi bites the unlit cigarette lodged between his teeth. “Nothing wrong with that, right?”

“But I want a house for the both of us. Not something you bought with the flick of the wrist. I want something we chose for the both of us.”

The way Oikawa says ‘for the both of us’ makes Iwaizumi shiver. He opens his mouth to speak, but Oikawa stops him by stealing the cigarette from his lips.

“Hey, Iwa-chan. Do you find beauty in smoke?” Oikawa starts, putting the cigarette in between his lips, his hands tracing the squared edges of Iwaizumi’s shoulder down to the waist band of Iwaizumi’s sweatpants. Smiling, he continues, “or do you find smoke in beauty?”

There, under the light peeping through white curtains, Iwaizumi thinks about all the years between them, thinks about a worn-out backpack, thinks about wrapping his hand too tightly on the chain swing, thinks about _'let's stay together, okay?'_ , thinks about the apartment by the bend, thinks about a Monday ending too empty and cold, thinks about cigarettes, thinks about the way his fingers shook the other day, thinks about a bruised lip, thinks about _‘for the both of us’_ , thinks about them.

There, under the small dust particles settling on Oikawa’s cheeks like white freckles, which only Iwaizumi can see in this light and in this moment, Iwaizumi thinks about them and says, “Both.”

He sees both. Because like cigarettes and all the bad memories turned nightmares against cold bed sheets between them, Iwaizumi knows that Oikawa, for now, is not good for him. But like smoke and everything that floats away, Oikawa’s beautiful and breathtaking and sad and lost and had always been something he'd wanted to touch beyond skin.

So, Iwaizumi says, “I find both.”

**Author's Note:**

> This was a cross-post (I originally posted this on Twitter via TwitLonger and then on Tumblr). If you want to know more about the au you can check out **[this twitter thread]()**!
> 
> Thank you so much for reading.
> 
> Feel free to talk to me about iwaoi or seijou in general on [**Twitter**](https://twitter.com/oshietooru)! (•̀o•́)ゞ


End file.
